


pariccaga

by EmtiSilber (MagitekUnit05953234)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Gen, Hien Rijin Needs Therapy, Pre-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, References to Depression, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234/pseuds/EmtiSilber
Summary: The feeling of a blade at Hien’s neck is familiar to him, molded into him like a river-cut ravine where previously there was only solid stone. In a way, it would not be unwelcome to feel it again.
Relationships: Yugiri Mistwalker & Hien Rijin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	pariccaga

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonsong (NekoAisu)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/gifts).



Hien does not yearn for death.

No, he does not yearn for death.

But often, he thinks it would be easier.

The feeling of a blade at Hien’s neck is familiar to him, molded into him like a river-cut ravine where previously there was only solid stone. In a way, it would not be unwelcome to feel it again.

It has been more than a year since the capital of Doma was razed, and the Empire closed the rebellion’s tail in the door, watching it struggle in vain until finally stepping on its neck. Like a beaten dog, Hien fled in the face of it and left his people to languish in Garlemald’s shadow while telling himself it was for the greater good.

If his people wished to be subjugated, who is Hien to deny them? What right does he have to disturb an uneasy peace for the sake of a chaotic war? Too much already has been lost. Too much blood has been spilt. If Doma has no will to fight, Hien must let it die.

Surely, this is what is best.

The Steppe is nothing like Hien’s home. It is similar in ways, yes, but everything from the heart of the Steppe’s culture to the landscape itself is like viewing the world through fogged glass. Hien breathes the thin air, gazes across the flat expanse of the valley plains, observes the foreign intricacies of the Xaela, and is brought to the knees by the weight of it. He can’t help but clutch at his chest when it becomes too much, digging his fingertips into the flesh layered over his ribcage, wondering if he can perhaps coax out the cold emptiness growing within if he just tries harder.

If he just tries—

“I beg of you, my lord,” Yugiri’s chin had been high that day despite all that threatened to drag her beneath the ground and flatten her under the weight of the earth. “Doma has need of you. Your  _ people  _ have need of you.”

Hien swallowed. The worship his position afforded him had already begun to sit wrong astride his shoulders in the days immediately following Doma’s ultimate fall. Hien smiled and could see the hope in Yugiri’s eyes flare at the motion. “If Doma yet thirsts for the blood of patriots and tyrants, I shall offer unto her my blade. But if she has had her fill of bitter draughts, I shall offer unto her conquerors my head.”

Yugiri became enraged at that. Hien recalls clearly the narrowing of eyes, the curl of her fists. She never was prone to angry outbursts before the nation fell, but war changes much. Defeat changes more. “No true son or daughter of Doma will accept such a sacrifice! To make of yourself an oblation to Garlemand is counter to all we have fought for. Would you take the lives of your people in vain?”

“I would put an end to my people spilling their blood for a land they have no love for any longer.”

“I won’t let you!” Yugiri spoke out then, denying the word of a royal to follow her own for the first time in Hien’s memory. Hien remembers thinking how grateful he was for that, regardless of the circumstance. In time she could learn to live without a Doman king behind her. “Doma won’t let you!”

“Learn the truth of her heart,” Hien appeased her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. If this was to be their last meeting, which Hien still suspects it will be, perhaps Yugiri will remember this more than the godlike prince she always tried to deify him as. “...and return to me.”

Yugiri left him then. In the year that has passed since her departure, Hien has done what he could to avoid his countrymen and Xaela alike. He lingers by Reunion more often than not, though he tells himself it is for the sake of easily acquiring necessities rather than a desire to catch a glimpse of someone familiar among the masked Qestir and the strange-speaking Geneq. 

Hien does not yearn for death.

The Steppe, for all that it is level and safe, has no lack of high spaces surrounding it —ripe for early hour musings as the sun rises over the plain. Hien often treks up the cliffs that box the step in, making a day of the journey for the sake of a vantage point for the next morning’s birth. He can never stop himself from wondering about the Eorzean sightseeing clan he often heard tales of in his youth, wondering if any of them ever witnessed the same sunrise over the same land in the same place he dangles his feet over the cliffside. If they had, did they make a note of it? Did they record the way the light spills pink-orange-white across the moorland? Did they write in their records how the Kagon would retreat to their shelters to avoid the sun’s curse? Did they think anything about this place was notable at all?

Hien wonders if it would be notable if it were the site of the final descent of the royal family of Doma.

He does not yearn for death.

“So,” Hien sits at another cliff now, not nearly so high or so remote. “My blade or my head. Which would you have of me?”

“The people of Yanxia remain loyal to Doma,” Yugiri replies. “I have seen the fire in their eyes— they are ready to rise up and fight.”

Something in Hien cracks at that. He had spent all this time… he had  _ expected _ …

“The time is ripe, my lord. Return with us, blade in hand, and lead Doma to freedom.”

Hien nods. If Doma would have him at their throne, he has no right to refuse. His blade is theirs. If later they desire his head, that too shall be theirs. He belongs to his countrymen, and with them, his fate lies.

He speaks. They accept.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/compromisedunit).


End file.
